


Void

by Mook_aron



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Dadby, Gen, I'm so sorrry, Mentions of Suicide, Murder Children, Other, Protective fire uncle, Sans - Freeform, grillby - Freeform, mentions of self harm, protective pappy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 05:50:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6892642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mook_aron/pseuds/Mook_aron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the knife is bound to Frisk in more ways than just one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Void

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya!
> 
> This is my first Undertale fanfiction and, as usual, it's angsty as hell. Yay!
> 
> A little gift for all those masochistic Undertale angst readers in the community!
> 
> If you've read it, you're sure to notice the similarities in the plot to Paring, by Rivet! If you don't recognise those, you'd best go read that! Because it's infinitely fabulous!

You've always had the knife, tied inexplicably to your soul in a way no one understands. You throw it off the cliffs in Waterfall one day and wait, wait... until you hear the tiny clang of the metal against the great rocks at the bottom. And for a second, you are free of the cold touch of death and pain against your skin.  
Until you turn away.

And the soft cold touch of all of your mistakes rests, once again, in the small of your back.

You will never outlive these mistakes.

 

There's the soft touch of a presence in your mind, a tingle that has become all too familiar over the many resets you've endured. You're not sure why Chara has retreated and allowed you control once again. He's quiet in your mind, a cold shiver of wind up your spine at most and the faint feeling of being watched at the least.

_I told you. It won't work._

You ignore him, as always, sitting on the edge of the cliff and gazing down at gaping void. You remember remnants of french class, the soft tap of a ruler against the board as the teacher (she had been pretty) tapped out the words. L'appel du vide, the call of the void.

The tiny, inescapable and irrational urge to jump from a height, to let the void swallow you and go down with the darkness. The void holds no comfort for you. Some may wish for respite in it's dark depths, the chance to let the void consume all that they are and let them drift towards eternity. You have no such options left.

You've answered the call before, leapt into the deep dark void and let it's dark warmth encase you. And you lay broken at the base of the cliffs on the rocks and stared up into the darkness as the blood drained from your body.

You woke up at the save point, as always.

There is another urge, filling your chest with the biting scratching GNAWING feeling of something digging through your bones with dull but vicious teeth. An urge matched to the cold steel strapped to your back, the knife that is soaked in blood.

Most of it your own.

If you continue, Sans will find you. If you stay, Sans will find you. This reset is different. Though Chara has recessed himself into the back of your mind, Sans still eyes you with that gleam that promise you a v e r y b a d t i m e. It's the first time in any of your resets that he has even acknowledged the resets. It has set you on edge since the very beginning of the Snowdin section of the Underground, that knowing gleam that has haunted your mind for many resets and

Sans had always seemed to be able to recognise and distinguish you from Chara in each Reset. So what had changed? You still remembered the last reset with Chara in possession, trapped behind the glass wall of your own mind and forced to watch as the glistening steel blade cut down the friends you'd made in past resets, before the urge had consumed you and you'd succumbed to the reset-or the knife.

You wonder if Sans had finally decided to give up his pretence of laziness and comedic routine in this reset.

Chara is eerily silent in the back of your mind, lurking in disapproving silence as you roll up the itchy fabric of your sweater. It's dark than normal- and the crusted over scars in the crook of your arm hold tribute to that fact. Chara doesn't approve, never has- but he holds his tongue. As vicious as he is, he has a heart- you think.

With the 4 lines etched into the pale skin of your arm, you roll up your sleeves and stand, swaying a little as the blood loss spins you around. You're half tempted to throw yourself over the edge of the waterfall. Instead, you let your feet carry you back towards Snowdin. You don't feel like dealing with Sans today.

And the sound of a burger from Grillby's bar is more than tempting.


End file.
